


Fever Dreams

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [31]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Admiral McGee's A+ Parenting, Age Play, Fever, Fever Dreams, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sickfic, pull-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7881571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McGee spikes a fever, but wants to prove he's still tough enough to be on the team. Gibbs is more concerned that he passed out at the office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I'm messing with some perspectives, here, trying to write from McGee's perspective, rather than Gibbs' because we learn more that way. I hope you guys still like it!

It was the worst day for this. McGee was up at 3 am with his limbs aching like crazy and his head feeling hot. He had a sneaking suspicion he had a fever, but needed to check before coming to any conclusions, so he shuffled to his bathroom and stuck the thermometer he owned in his mouth, waiting until it beeped to take it out.

His bleary eyes had a hard time making out the numbers on the tiny screen, but he managed to make out 101.0F with a little strain. He could feel congestion building in his head and in the morning he was sure he would feel like crap, not least because he could barely sleep as it was. He put the thermometer back and headed back to bed to try and get a little more sleep in if he could. He had to be at 100% tomorrow. Who knew what the next day might bring, and he needed to be able to prove to Gibbs he was worthy of being on the man's team. With those thoughts running through his head, he went back to bed and eventually succumbed to sleep.

* * *

When McGee opened his eyes next, sunlight streamed through the windows. McGee sat up fast, ignoring his head swimming as he did so, and checked his alarm clock. He must have turned it off in his sleep, because it was already 0900! He turned on his phone and squinted at the screen, making out that Tony had called him several times. _Oh, no. Oh no no no NO._

He threw on his clothes and shoes as fast as possible, skipping breakfast and not bothering to check how his fever was now. Sleeping in and then calling in sick was not an option, and by Tony's sheer number of calls he must have missed an important case of some sort. He willed his car to move faster through traffic and got to the office with just enough time to boot up his computer before he saw Gibbs and the team come out of the elevator. Though Kate and Tony hung back, presumably because they wanted Gibbs to leave them out of the warpath. The second Gibbs was standing close enough that Tim thought he could be heard clearly, he said,  "Zorry I'm lade, bozz, I'm a lidle zick and I overzlebd." His congestion was obviously worse, and his voice sounded _way_  more pitiful than was acceptable. "Id won'd habben again."

Gibbs looked him over and McGee could feel it, he'd screwed up too much, he was going to get kicked off the team, but all Gibbs said was "You feeling all right, Tim? I would have accepted you calling in sick if it's really so bad you slept through the phone calls," as he leaned on McGee's desk.

"I'm fine. Really. Jusd congesdion," McGee said, before pulling a tissue from the pack he had on his desk and blowing into it. _Don't let anyone see how miserable you are. It's a sign of weakness, Timothy, and not acceptable!_

"You are _not_ 'fine,' McGee. You look like you're about to pass out," Gibbs said.

"I'm fine--" McGee was about to say 'really' as he stood up, but his vision darkened and swam, and he could feel more than hear his heart thudding before everything went black.

* * *

"...wake up. Can you hear my voice?"

McGee tried to figure out where that voice was coming from in the darkness. It sounded like Gibbs, but more like Papa Gibbs, rather than Boss Gibbs like he knew at work. Was he at work? He could have sworn he was...

"...McGee, wake up. Come on, I know you can do it, and I'd rather have you conscious when Ducky looks you over."

Conscious? What happened? He tried to say something to let Gibbs know he was awake, but it just came out as this guttural sound that even McGee inwardly winced at.

"That's it, McGee, you're coming 'round. You fainted when you stood up. When was the last time you ate and drank some water?"

McGee focused all his energy and pulled his eyes open, but found everything was still blurry as he tried to focus on Gibbs. "Bozz?" he rasped. "Wha' habbened?"

Ducky came into his line of sight. "That is an excellent question. How do you feel, Timothy?"

"My head'z poundin'," McGee said. "Bud I'm fine." _Good. Keep that up and they might let you work tomorrow._

"He passed out when he stood up," Gibbs informed Ducky. "My guess is dehydration, lack of food, something with his sinuses, or a combination of the 3."

McGee wanted to say he could speak for himself, but breathing, let alone speaking, was hard enough, and he didn't want to force anything.

"Well, it sounds like he has the bug going around," Ducky said. "Can you sit up-slowly, lad, slowly!-there we go. You didn't hit anything on your fall, did you?"

"I caught him before he could hit his desk," Gibbs informed Ducky. "He complained about a pounding headache, though."

"Yes, well, I'm not surprised," Ducky said. "That is often a side affect of dehydration or low blood sugar, never mind fainting. Timothy, when was the last time you ate?"

"Uh...lazd nighd? I realized I overslebd and rushed to get here, zo I 'ad to zkib breakfazt," McGee explained. "I've been drinking wader, dough." That was a lie, he hadn't had any time to get anything to drink yet. He just hoped no one noticed.

Gibbs looked mad at him. Was he still gonna get kicked off the team? Honestly McGee didn't blame Gibbs if he made that choice. "McGee, you are going home. Now. You are in no condition to work."

"I'm fine, Bozz, really--"

"You just passed out from standing up too quickly at your desk! You are _not_  fine! There is nothing about that which is 'fine'!" Gibbs exclaimed. "I'll drive you home myself if I have to, but you are going home!"

McGee flinched. This was the part where he would get the belt from his father. _And now you showed weakness, brilliant, Timothy. Just brilliant_.

"Duck, do you think that McGee is suitable for even desk duty today?"

Ducky shook his head. "Normally I would say provided he sat down and ate something he would be suitable, but combined with his cold I worry about him fainting again."

"You see, McGee, you're not fit for duty, there's no point in your being here. I'll drive you home just in case you feel dizzy again."

McGee swallowed and nodded, trying to fight the stinging sensation in his eyes. He didn't want to end his career at the DC NCIS branch on a bad note; he may as well go out with as much dignity as possible. Gibbs helped McGee stand up, though he lost the color from his face when he stood. McGee realized with mortification that Kate and Tony were staring at him. He couldn't see the worry in their eyes, only their unwavering observation. _Great, now everyone will know I'm a weakling_. Gibbs kept a grip on him as he walked out to his car and helped McGee in the passenger side. McGee was trying to curb the swimming in his head when Gibbs got out his phone and started talking. "Hello, this is Agent Gibbs. Agent McGee and I won't be in the rest of the day. I'm afraid we've both got that flu going around. If the director asks, tell him we'll both be home, recovering."

"You can'd do dad!" McGee exclaimed in a panic.

Gibbs turned to him, nonplussed. "'Course I can, I just did. Strap in, I'm taking you to my house."

_Strap in? Wait, seatbelts, of course, stupid_. "B-Bozz," he stammered. "Y-You're gonna ged in drouble, and I don' wanna be the reazon for it."

Gibbs seemed to be following the speed limit, for once in his life, and McGee wondered why he would do that. Certainly not because _he_  was sick. "I'll be fine, McGee. I'm more concerned about you."

_No. You can get kicked out of NCIS, but you can't let Gibbs get kicked out too! Do something about this, the world needs him_! "I...y-you can'd do diz! I won'd led you! You have do go back afder you drob me off ad _my_  houze!"

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Gibbs asked.

He couldn't tell him the real reason, he just couldn't. That was almost as bad as showing weakness. "...'Cauze id'z rulez," McGee muttered lamely.

Gibbs shook his head. "Not your real answer, but I'll leave it be...for now."

McGee turned and looked out the window, sleep overtaking him again.

* * *

The next thing McGee could actually coherently recognize was that there was something horribly cold on his head. He tried to take it off but someone growled and moved his hands away. "Leave it."

Great. Barely a minute into consciousness and he was already in trouble.

And then the voice was back. "Hey, Tim, I'm not going to hurt you. You know that, right?"

"B...you al...alway..." McGee opened his eyes, but they wouldn't focus on whoever was in front of him. The man reminded him of his father in the worst ways, though. "Alwayz...zdob me..." _But you always stop me when I'm trying to get out of your way_.

Gibbs frowned. "Tim? You with me?"

McGee frowned. He knew that voice, and it wasn't his father's. It wasn't Boss Gibbs' voice, either. It was too soft, too concerned, even for Boss Gibbs, who could be surprisingly soft when he wanted to be. "Baba?" Timmy asked.

Gibbs sighed. "Yeah, Timmy, Papa's right here. You had me scared for a minute. How're you feeling?"

Timmy thought about it. He couldn't really explain how he felt, it was just...a lot of feelings jumbled together. "C...cold..." he muttered. "Feel worze, nod bedder."

Papa looked concerned, but Timmy saw no reason he should be. He got sick like this sometimes, so what? Daddy would make him walk it off, and that's what Timmy would do, best he could. "Kiddo, I have to take your temperature before I do anything else to know what I'm dealing with. Can you keep a thermometer in your mouth long enough for me to get a reading?" Papa asked.

"Dunno...godda...breathe through dere..." Timmy said. Why take a temperature? Only Mommy took his temperature, and she wasn't around anymore.

Papa muttered something, and much as Timmy strained to hear it, he couldn't catch it. "Stay here," Papa told him as he walked away.

Great, now he could start walking off this cold. He tried to push himself up on the couch, but his arms shook as they tried to hold him, and he ultimately flopped back onto the couch where he started. But it turned out to be at just the right moment because Papa came back with a thermometer and put it in his armpit. "It'z cold, Baba," Timmy whined.

"I know, kiddo, but Papa needs to know your temperature."

The thermometer beeped, but it was high and fast, unlike the one Timmy had at home where it would make the same beep no matter what. Did he have a fever, then? Papa looked at the screen, Timmy could tell even if his eyes were closed, because his breathing changed and he growled under his breath. He knew he was in trouble. "Timmy?" Gibbs asked softly.

Here it comes. He opened his eyes. "Mm-hm?"

"Did you take your temperature this morning? Before work?" Papa asked.

"Ad...maybe 3," Timmy admitted. "Zaid I was 101 even."

"Well, you're not now. You're close to 102. How could you think you were suitable for work when you were up at 3 with a fever?!"

"Wanded do...brove I waz...brove I waz...zdrong enough...for the deam" Timmy said miserably. "I'm never zdrong enough."

"Who told you that?" _Oh. Oh, I really shouldn't have said that_.

"Daddy did," Timmy said, shifting on the couch. He wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

Papa looked confused for only a second before his eyes flashed anger. "Well, your father's not here now. Papa is. And Papa says you have to take your medicine and something to cool you down."

"Medizine?" Timmy asked warily, trying his best to sit up. The last time he had taken medicine as a kid it was a belting to 'set him straight.'

"Ibuprofen. It's Advil. You know Advil?"

Timmy nodded in relief. So he wasn't being punished for being sick yet. "Helbz my head when it'z fuzzy."

"Well, it'll help when you feel cold because your head's hot too. And all you need to do is take 2 little pills."

"Okay," Timmy whispered. "Juz' becauze I feel all funny, though."

"Of course. That's the only reason you should take medicine; to feel better." Papa left and Timmy started to doze before Papa was in front of him again, this time with medicine. "Time for your medicine, kiddo."

Timmy sat up with a little help from Papa and took the medicine before falling back onto the couch and into sleep.

* * *

_McGee was at the office. He couldn't remember how he had gotten there, just that he needed to get something to Abby. He made his way to the elevator, feeling like he was moving through molasses, and when he finally got there, the door wouldn't open. He growled, hitting the button again and again. The elevator would ding, but the door wouldn't open. "Fine, I'll take the stairs," he said to no one in particular._

_On the stairs, he slipped on a wet patch and fell head first onto the steps. He hit the bottom and broke his neck, he knew. Until he didn't fall down the stairs, he was walking up them to Gibbs' house._

_It was 8 o'clock in the evening and the team had all gone there. Eager to start relaxing, Tim went straight to the bathroom where the Pull-Ups were. But when he came back, the team was all staring at him. "I didn't think he would actually do it," Kate whispered._

_Tony just laughed in response. "Like I said before, Kate, Probie's nothing more than a little baby!"_

_Tim jumped and backed away quickly, hoping to hide in the bathroom. What he hit instead of the door, however, made his blood run cold._

_He was 4 years old again, and in his father's house. He had a toy ship in hand, and had backed into a coffee table with a vase on it._ The _vase, the one he was never allowed to touch. It had shattered upon impact with the table. He could hear his father's footsteps coming closer. Trying to look for a way out, Timmy found none. His father silently grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him to his room. "Dad, please, it was an accident!" he had to stop himself from saying Daddy. He'd only get hurt more if he said 'Daddy.'_

_"This is for your own good," his father said, going into Timmy's closet and pulling out the belt he had recently taken to using._

_"No, Dad, I promise, it's nothing, please just don't hurt me!" Timmy pleaded._

_"Nothing?! That vase was worth more than 3 months' worth food on your plate! I'll teach you a lesson, and then you can start paying me back!"_

_Timmy waited for the first blow to hit, but it never came._

* * *

McGee sat up, looking around warily, like his father would appear with a belt any second. Gibbs was in front of him. "Easy, Tim. You were having a nightmare. You're at my place, remember?"

"Wh--Remember? The lasd thing I know I'm ad the office and you said I bazzed oud," McGee mumbled. "I wend in your car and I fell asleep. Why? Have I been awake before?!" That would not be good, he always had a loose tongue when he was sick and not quite lucid.

"Well, I thought you were. You spiked a bad fever, I gave you 2 Advil and a cool cloth on your head, which seemed to do the trick in cooling you down. You don't remember anything else?" Gibbs said.

"N-no," McGee lied.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "You're a horrible liar, McGee. We need to fix that."

McGee shifted on the couch. At least he hadn't wet himself this time. "Id was juzd a sdubid dream," he explained. "I screwed ub, again, and my dad saw fid do deach me a lezzon. Uzually he juzd zend me do my room, bud thiz dime he waz going for...hiz beld. Which zometimez habbened. No big deal."

"No big deal," Gibbs repeated in disbelief. _Next time, Timothy, keep your stupid mouth shut the whole way_. "Your screaming on my couch in fear and begging to not be hurt is no big deal?"

McGee winced. "Id'z nod az bad az id zoundz, bromize, bozz."

"Yeah, well, I don't believe that for a second," Gibbs growled. "And I _know_ you don't either."

McGee looked down in embarrassment. "Bozz...bleaze. Juzd leave id. I'm an aduld. I can handle id when id comez ub."

Gibbs clenched his jaw and reached for his phone, which was on the floor, for some reason, to talk into it, but McGee wasn't listening. He had to go home, ASAP, before he let anything else slip. He just wasn't willing to dredge through those consequences. "DiNozzo hopes you get better soon," Gibbs said when he hung up the phone.

McGee nodded and sighed. "Yeah. Me doo."

Gibbs leaned forward. "You're gonna have to tell me when you reach your limits, McGee. I can't have you fainting on a case again."

McGee sighed and leaned back into the couch. "Yeah, well, nod doday. Nod undil I feel bedder, 'cauze I'm going home."

"You came here in my car," Gibbs pointed out. "How do you intend to do that?"

McGee frowned. "I'll thing of zomething."

Gibbs sighed. "Do you really want to leave, McGee?"

_Not particularly_. "Yez," McGee said with all the confidence he could muster.

"Then I'll take you back to the Navy Yard, let you get in your car, and go. Tomorrow. Because I worry if I leave you to drive on your own today, you'll doze off on the road and crash."

"I _won'd_." McGee insisted. "I juzd need do go _home_."

"And this isn't," Gibbs said, his voice flat. McGee opened his mouth to explain, but Gibbs waved him off. "No, I get it. Don't bother apologizing."

McGee kicked himself as Gibbs left the room and walked into his basement. He wanted to go after the man, but his head was still fuzzy around the edges, and when he went to stand up he recognized that he would black out again if he did. And he didn't want to give Gibbs' reasoning traction.

So he sat back down and didn't move for a while. Until he had to pee. It was a small sensation at first, but it grew worse and worse as time went on. He shifted on the couch and grimaced, hoping he could hold it until he could move to the bathroom without blacking out. But a stab in his side informed him that wasn't going to happen. He tried to stand again and nearly fell to the floor this time, so that was out. He got on the ground on hands and knees but that made his bladder hurt worse than it already did, and it would be too slow. "Bozz!" he called to the basement. "Bozz!"

He didn't get a response, and didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs. "Bozz!" he called again. "I need zome helb!"

That got a response. Gibbs walked up and stood in the doorway of the basement. "What is it, McGee?"

"I need the bathroom," McGee said.

"You know where it is," Gibbs said.

"I...I can'd ged do id on my own," McGee admitted, cheeks bright red. "I can'd zdand ub withoud blacking oud."

Gibbs walked over and silently helped McGee to his feet and walked with the man to the bathroom, but didn't close the door behind him like McGee expected. Instead, he opened the cabinet under the sink. "Do your business, and then put some protection on so we don't keep having this problem. I figured you'd help yourself to something to eat, but it's clear that's not going to happen, so I'll be making you something in the kitchen if you need me."

McGee nodded and Gibbs left. McGee found maneuvering the bathroom fairly easy; there was always something to lean on while he took care of relieving himself. But when the time came to put on a Pull-Up, he winced. It was one thing to do it while he regressed, another to do it as a grown man who was having problems getting to the bathroom because of a flu. But he put it on, because he didn't want to ask for more help than was necessary. After all, he was a guest, and that would be rude, not to mention another sign of weakness. He had to deal with those a lot, today, he noticed.

He kept one hand on the wall as he made his way out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where he sat down at the table and rested his head on the wood. Gibbs grunted but didn't say anything, just kept cooking...whatever he was cooking. There was the hiss of something boiling in a pan, but that was all McGee could make of it until the smell of melted cheese met him. He sat up straighter and saw Gibbs walking over with a grilled cheese sandwich. "Don't eat it too fast," Gibbs said, putting the plate in front of McGee.

McGee looked at it, and then back up at his boss, who had gone back to the stove and was making a second sandwich, presumably for himself. He picked up the sandwich and took a small bite out of it. It was cooked to a golden brown and the cheese was just the right amount of gooey, while still being easy on his stomach. McGee ate carefully, and thought about how nice it would be if he could just let himself be little and have his papa take care of him, but he didn't need to relax, he needed to get rid of his cold. After a time he felt Gibbs' stare on him from across the table. McGee looked up. "Whad? Waz I talking to myzelf?"

"No, but I could tell what you were thinking by your facial expressions," Gibbs replied honestly. He must not have seen a reason to hide what he was doing.

"And whad'z dat?" McGee growled, immediately going on the offensive.

Gibbs frowned. "Why are you acting like I'm interrogating you? You haven't done anything wrong, Tim."

"I've done enough," McGee muttered, pushing his plate away. "I've lozd my abbedide."

"Tough. You haven't eaten anything else today. Finish the sandwich," Gibbs ordered.

McGee shook his head and stood from the table, relieved he didn't pass out this time. "I'm fine, and I won'd bother you any more doday. I know where the buz zdadion is."

Gibbs stood up as well and glared at McGee. "Sit down, McGee." McGee wavered and Gibbs out a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down into the chair. "You are never a bother coming over here, you understand me?"

McGee glowered, but in the face of Gibbs he was no match. He sighed and reluctantly nodded.

"Your father has a lot to answer for," Gibbs said darkly.

McGee grimaced. "Could we, uh, nod dalk about dat, bozz?"

"Well, he does," Gibbs said. "The way you behave shows that enough."

McGee flinched and glared at Gibbs. "Juzd drob id," he said, trying to sound stern. "I'm an aduld, and I can handle myzelf."

"So you keep saying. I have no doubt you can handle _yourself_ ," Gibbs said sarcastically. "Your fainting in the office proves that. I'm more worried about you handling your father."

"You don'd have do worry, bozz, I'm zdrong enough to deal with him doo."

Gibbs frowned. "Interesting word choice, there. I suppose you fainting would be an example of your _not_  being strong enough?"

McGee's gaze dropped to the table as he felt his cheeks heat up. "No..."

"No?" Gibbs asked, starting to eat his own sandwich. "What's it an example of, then?"

"Me drying do nod ged kicked off the deam," McGee mumbled. "Broving dad I can handle dis job."

Gibbs leaned back, the frown on his face turning into a scowl in McGee's peripheral vision. "McGee. Look at me."

He did so, waiting to be told what he had been fearing all morning.

"Do you really think I would kick you off the team because you were so sick you slept through your alarm and several phone calls?"

McGee looked away from Gibbs and nodded.

"Then let's get one thing clear before we do anything else today: I am not, and will never be, your father." McGee nodded miserably, taking Gibbs' words the exact opposite way they were intended. So, Gibbs continued. "That man does not deserve a son like you, and I can never do the same things he did to you in good conscience. That includes punishing you for something that is out of your control. The next time you're so sick you're up half the night and you sleep through you're alarm, you call to let me know you're not coming in as soon as you get up. And know that no matter what, that I will never take you off my team because you need some extra time to recover. However, the next time you sleep through your alarm and Tony's calls because you stayed up half the night doing something irresponsible, I will personally see to it that goes on your record. We understand each other?"

McGee sat in shock at the table, before nodding earnestly. "Believe me, bozz, I won'd led dad habben."

"Good," Gibbs said with a nod. "Now, eat your sandwich. I may not be your father, but your papa's worried about you."

McGee laughed and reached for his plate. "Fine. Bud your older zon wandz you do know dad diz waz zdill unnezezzary."

* * *

That night, the whole family came over to see how McGee was doing, and were surprised to find that Timmy had actually fallen asleep on his papa on the sofa, the TV on in the background. Timmy was never that comfortable around people, even people he knew very well. "He's not dead, is he?" Tony joked.

Timmy opened his eyes blearily and yawned. "Not yet. Feel better, actually."

"You sound better too, Timothy," Ducky said, walking in front of the couch and crouching down. "Have any more dizzy spells?"

"Not after I ate," Timmy said. "Papa made me grilled cheese."

"Well, I suspect that was the best thing for you, my boy," Ducky said. "And I am glad that you feel better."

Tony walked over next, a pout firm on his lips. "Can I sit there now that you're up?"

Timmy shook his head vehemently. "Papa's comfy."

"I know. That's why _I_  want to sit there," Tony explained, pointing to where Timmy was sitting.

Timmy just shrugged as if to say _tough_. "I'm the one who's sick."

Tony crossed his arms. "So? You still went to work!"

"And passed out," Gibbs pointed out. "You're going to have to give up my lap for tonight, kiddo. I'm not about to make Timmy get up."

Tony huffed but went with Katie to the toy chest that was out from when Timmy had wanted to play earlier, and appeared happy enough to have Abby and Katie playing with him, once Abby was done fussing over Timmy. Timmy curled into Papa's side and let Uncle Ducky sit on the other half of the sofa. Papa carded his fingers through Timmy's hair. "Did they pass on the case?" Papa asked.

"Surprisingly, no. It seems they really want you on this one, even if it might take you another day or two to be back in the office," Uncle Ducky responded.

Papa scoffed. "I bet they do."

Uncle Ducky frowned. "What's the matter, Jethro?"

Timmy stifled a smile. He always found it funny when Uncle Ducky used Papa's first name.

"It's complicated, Duck. Timmy had a fever dream that's...concerning."

"Well, fever dreams are not the definition of pleasant," Uncle Ducky said.

"This goes beyond that, Duck. It sounded more like a past history of child abuse than anything else."

Timmy didn't like those words. _Child abuse_. They sounded so ugly. Besides, other kids had it a lot worse than him. He just had a father who was liberal in the straightening out department. According to his teachers, there was nothing wrong with that. Everyone except his high school counselor seemed to agree that Timmy always just needed a little more discipline. That one counselor helped him get into Johns Hopkins and away from his father, and he'd forever be grateful for the man helping him out. But that didn't mean that he liked people saying he was a victim. Timmy buried himself further into Papa' side, and Papa wrapped an arm around him tightly. Uncle Ducky hadn't said anything for a while, but chose then to spoke. "Perhaps the dear boy would benefit from some form of...professional therapy?"

At that point, Timmy sat up. "I don't need that!" he asserted. "I'm fine on my own. I'm strong enough!"

He didn't miss the _you see what I mean?_  look Papa shot Uncle Ducky. Uncle Ducky nodded. "Of course you are, my dear boy. Forgive me for implying that you weren't."

Timmy accepted the apology and got down on the floor to play with Katie and Tony and Abby, and let the grown-ups have the rest of their discussion in peace. He just hoped that Papa wouldn't make him go to therapy when their discussion ended. He was fine. He barely even felt sick anymore, too.

_I'm just fine_ , he insisted to himself. _Really, I don't need anyone's "help."_

"Hey, Timmy, pass the Legos?" Abby asked.

"Hm? Oh, sure," he said, passing the blocks he had on hand over to her, the adults' conversation already slipping his mind in favor of more interesting things, like the ship Katie and Abby were building. He was going to be just fine in a day or two, no matter what the grown-ups said.

He would always be just fine.


End file.
